


Savior

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Category: Supernatural, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, No Winchesters, Pre-Relationship, just the Roadhouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Roadhouse wasn't her favorite bar, but it was the only real hunter bar in the area and Lena was desperate for some human interaction. A Supernatural AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savior

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with the Supernatural canon - in this story, the Harvelle's Roadhouse is established long before Bill (Billy) Harvelle takes over. The fic is set sometime in the late forties.
> 
> John being psychic is canon if you believe _I'm Staying With My Boys_.
> 
> This fic was written for [HBOWarathonV2](http://hbowarathonv2.tumblr.com/).

Lena pulled her car up in the dusty old parking lot in front of the Roadhouse and sat for a moment, bracing herself. It was the only real hunter bar in the area and it wasn’t her favorite place to congregate with other hunters – too many drunk and sad men looking to unload on whoever was nearest and, being as there were generally so few women in the bar, they tended to unload on her. Every time she told them she didn’t care about their lives and every time they ignored her, prompting her to break hands, or hearts. But she’d been travelling for the past eighteen hours without rest and needed somewhere to sit down and be around people for a while, even if it was fellow hunters with few real social skills to speak of. She took a deep breath and got out of the car. 

There were not very many cars in the parking lot; it was afternoon and most of the old hands wouldn’t come in until the evening. She had at least a couple of hours before she’d have to start fending off advances and unwelcome advice.

She pushed open the door. It was nearly empty – there was one man sitting by himself at a far table and he barely looked up when she entered. George Harvelle was polishing glasses behind the counter and a baby was lying on top of it, fast asleep.

“Lena Riggi!” said George. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said. “Wendigo up north, vampire out west, restless spirits down south. I haven’t had a lot of downtime in the past few months.”

“Welcome home,” said George, who had a habit of welcoming every hunter like they were family. “We missed you. You met the newest Harvelle? His name’s Bill.”

Lena approached the counter and looked down at the baby who was lying on his stomach. “Hello Bill,” she said. He didn’t stir.

“What can I get you, Lena? Whiskey? Vodka? Pop?”

“Just water for now,” she said.

“Sit down, sit down,” said George as he filled a glass of water for her. “How long are you gonna be around? I’ve always got a spare bed for my favorite girl.”

“I’m you’re only girl,” said Lena. George laughed. “Yeah? And how’s that going for you? Met any nice men on the road?”

“I don’t have time for men,” she said sharply. “I’m a hunter.”

George raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just asking. Sore subject, okay, I get it.”

Lena frowned and took a sip of her water. George shifted uncomfortably in front of her. “Rodriguez is dead,” he said after a minute.

Lena raised her glass in toast. “How’d he die?”

“Demon got him in Missouri. He was a good man.”

Lena didn’t know him personally, couldn’t speak for his character. She thought he might have hit on her once in a bar in Virginia but she couldn’t say for sure. She’d heard he was a good hunter though. “Does his family know?”

“No family to speak of, ‘cept us, I guess.”

If hunters were a family, they were the worst kind, Lena thought. Nothing worse than a bunch of drunk old men fighting the good fight around the country. Old men, and her. She hadn’t met any other female hunters on the road. A lot of wives who guarded homes for their hunter husbands and a couple of kind-hearted witches, but no female hunters. There was no one like her.

“Can you watch Billy for a second?” George asked. “I gotta take a shit and Lizzy’s out shopping for a couple of hours.”

“Sure.” She didn’t know much about babies, had been shut out of the family long before her brothers started having kids, but she figured a couple minutes alone with a sleeping baby couldn’t be too bad.

The minute George left the bar for the back room was the minute the baby started squalling. She picked Billy up gingerly. “Shh,” she said. “Hush now. Your daddy’s gonna kill me.”

The baby paused for one second, looking at her with a confused expression, and then started up even louder.

“Here, let me,” said a voice behind her. She whirled around. The man who’d been sitting in the back of bar was behind her, arms open. She gave Billy to him. He tucked Billy against his chest and mumbled something to him. Billy’s shrieks toned down to a noisy whine.

“Wow,” Lena said. “I’m impressed.”

“I got a lot of siblings,” said the guy. He looked up at Lena and put out a hand. “John Basilone.”

“Lena Riggi.” She shook his hand.

“Lena Riggi,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of you. You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

Here it came – the _you’re too pretty to be a hunter_ or _little girls shouldn’t be out by themselves_. Never mind that she was thirty years old and had been hunting on her own for seven years now.

But John didn’t say anything, just bounced the baby a little and looked at her without blinking.

“I’ve never heard of you,” she said, when the silence stretched too long.

“I’m new,” he said.

“You don’t look new.” John had the bearing of an old hunter, his face full of tired lines from too little sleep and his shoulders slumped in the kind of defeat that came from losing too many cases.

“I’m not really a hunter,” he said. “And I’m just staying with the Harvelles ‘til I get on my feet.”

“You’re going into hunting cold?” Most hunters she knew inherited the job, came into it by family or close friends.

“Hunting’s not really what I do,” he said. 

“What is it you do, then? Babysit for the Harvelles?”

He laughed. “Something like that. Watch.”

He placed a hand on the baby’s forehead and closed his eyes. Billy, whose cries had become quieter and quieter during their conversation, went limp.

“What did you just do?” she cried, taking a step forward and yanking his hand off Billy.

John opened his eyes. “I’m psychic,” he said. He placed Billy back on his blanket on the bar. Billy grumbled a little, but otherwise stayed asleep. John sat down on the barstool next to him.

“I’ve never met a psychic,” Lena said.

“It’s not a fun job,” said John. “I got run out of my home town for knowing too much.”

“What’s it like?” she asked, sitting down as well.

“Noisy. Uncomfortable. It’s not like hunting where you can go home at the end of the day and kick back your feet and pretend the day never happened.” John rubbed Billy’s back. “At least, that’s what they tell me it’s like.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Another psychic picked me up off the side of the road. Said they saw it coming, me getting run out. I got passed around until I ended up here. George said he’d help me out.” John sat back with a small smile. “So far, I haven’t done shit.”

Lena smoothed back the hair on Billy’s head. “So you play babysitter while they run a bar.”

“Got nothing else to do.” John looked down at Billy, then back up at her. “How’d you end up as a hunter? You’re the only woman I’ve heard of who works alone.”

“My grandparents had a vengeful spirit in their house,” she said. “I was the one who took care of it. You know what that means, right? So I left home under rumors of grave desecration.” She sat back as well, crossing one leg over the other. “Once you see a thing like that, there’s no going back.”

“You got that right.”

“I figured I didn’t have any other choice. I’m not sure I want another choice.”

“You like being a hunter?” John looked surprised. No doubt he’d been hanging around the bar long enough to pick up the general atmosphere of loneliness and self-loathing that accompanied many of the hunters who worked without partners or who had no spouses waiting for them at home. Lena might be isolated, even a little lonely sometimes, but she certainly didn’t hate herself for it. She’d chosen the life.

“I love it. It’s not where I thought I’d be at thirty years old, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I admire that,” said John and he fell silent. He looked bitter, and lost.

Against her better judgment, Lena reached out and put a hand on his knee. “You’ll figure it out,” she said.

George came out of the backroom, stretching. Lena took her hand off of John’s knee and sat back. “Better now,” George said cheerfully. “Oh good, the two of you have met! How’s Billy?”

“Just fine,” said John. He had schooled his face into something more pleasant though Lena thought she saw a hint of sadness cross his face briefly. Funny. For all that he looked tired and lost, John didn’t seem given to sadness.

“You lying little shit,” said George. “I heard him crying. Good thing we got Lena though, right? A woman’s touch is all a baby needs.”

“It was all John,” said Lena, trying hard not to get frustrated.

“John’s got that magic,” George agreed. “Hey Lena, you want a case? I got a call this morning about a haunting in a cemetery up in Wyoming. Should be pretty easy.”

“Sure,” she said, standing up. George turned away to get her coordinates. John looked up at her with a half-smile on his face, belaying a false cheerfulness that made him look sort of pathetic. Stifling a sigh, she said, “John – why don’t you come with me?”

“You sure?” he said. “I’ve never been on a case before.”

“Nothing easier than a cemetery haunting,” said George, coming back a piece of paper with a town name scrawled across it. “You sad sack could use some fresh air and you know it. First rule of hunting: never refuse a job. Second rule of hunting: especially when a pretty woman is involved.”

“George,” said Lena. “Please.”

“Sorry,” said George. He grinned at them. “Go on. The Roadhouse and Billy will still be here when you get back. Come on, John! A little adventure will be good for you.”

John stood up. “Guess I don’t have anything better to do,” he said.

“Come on,” said Lena. “We’ve got work to do.”

The ride out to Wyoming was comfortable; they spent most of it talking. John came from a big family like hers and missed them a lot, just as she did. He’d been aware of his psychic abilities for most of his life and had kept it to himself and his family. The trouble started when he saw a woman from his parents’ church dying from a bad fall but when he’d gone to her house to save her, he was too late. He vowed to do better and did – but he did too well. It got out that he had a gift for seeing things and the town ran him out. “It wasn’t natural,” John mocked. “It wasn’t right. They threatened to have me arrested. Shit, if only they knew what was out there.”

Lena looked over at him and smiled. John smiled back.

They found the town in Wyoming easily enough. It was late in the evening, perfect for hunting without the scrutiny of any townspeople. She pulled up in front of the cemetery where the supposed haunting was and stopped the car. They sat for a moment in silence.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” said John.

“A vision?”

“No.” John shook his head. “Just a feeling.”

“Good,” said Lena. “I’ll get the gas. You carry the shovel.”

The cemetery empty and utterly still. Even their footsteps seemed muted in untended grass. Lena wished she wasn’t wearing a skirt but was glad that she was at least wearing boots. Weeds sprung up the corners of gravestones, brushing against their legs as they wound through the cemetery, searching for some sign of a restless spirit.

“There,” whispered John, pointing at a small granite cross. It was old and grey and showed signs of neglect even beyond gravestones in the rest of the cemetery.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I just do,” he said, hitching the shovel on his shoulder. “Come on.”

As they approached the grave, they heard a faint whimper, and then a cry of relief. A young female spirit dressed in white, face contorted in the moonlight, rushed out of the air to greet them. “Have you come to save me?” she asked, putting her hands together. “Please save me.”

“Save you how?” Lena asked. She’d confronted her fair share of spirits, but none had ever looked at her with such pleading and sad eyes.

“Save me. Make me go away. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“We’re here,” John said. “Don’t worry.”

He began to dig. Lena and the spirit watched him. “Please save me,” the spirit repeated over and over again. “Please save me. Please save me.”

Lena wished she could touch the spirit, offer some comfort. She had never wanted to do that before. “It’ll be all right,” she said, in as soothing a manner as she could muster.

“Please save me,” the spirit said and Lena fell quiet.

She and John switched off digging. He’d been reluctant at first, protesting that she’d get dirty, that her clothes would get ruined. She laughed in his face and rubbed his tired arms and jumped into the hole. John stood close to the spirit, murmuring to her as Lena dug. The spirit quieted whenever he was near her, picking up her chant of “Please save me” whenever it was his turn to dig.

It was deep in the night when they reached the coffin. Lena’s shovel splintered the old wood and she got down on her knees to look for the bones. John peered down as she ripped open the grave with the shovel.

“Give me a hand up,” she said. John put out a hand and she climbed out of the grave.

“This is how it’s done,” she said. “We light it on fire and we get out of here as fast as possible.”

“Please save me,” said the spirit.

“This might hurt a little,” Lena told her.

“I’ll do anything,” said the spirit. She didn’t look older than a teenager. “I’ll do anything you say.”

Lena poured gas all over the coffin and bones. “Salt it,” she said to John and struck a match. The minute he finished spreading salt across the grave, she dropped the match in. Flames exploded out of the grave. John yanked her back.

“Thank you,” said the spirit as she dissolved into the air. “You saved me.”

“We need to leave,” said Lena. John nodded and picked the shovel. They ran for the entrance of the cemetery and were halfway out of town when a fire engine roared past them. Lena winced and hoped it was too dark for the engine operators to see how dirty they were.

John didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he threw back his head and laughed. “That was incredible.”

“Welcome to the life,” said Lena.

“Is it always like that?”

“Never. There usually isn’t a spirit hanging around over our shoulders and when there is, they’re usually a lot more violent.”

“That was great. You were great. I’ve never seen a woman dig up a grave before. Hell, I mean, I’ve never seen anyone dig up a grave before, but I never thought I’d see a woman in skirt and blouse do it.” John put his hands behind his head smiling broadly. The tired lines were gone from his face and he looked euphoric, even though he was covered in dirt. “Our first case together.”

“Our?”

“You and me. Together. We make a good team, you can’t deny it.”

“Oh no,” said Lena. “This is not happening again. We are not happening again. I work alone.”

“Wasn’t it easier this way, though? Admit it, you needed my help.”

“I didn’t need anything from you,” said Lena. “I could have carried that case alone. A haunting in a cemetery? It doesn’t get any easier than that.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said John. “Maybe you should show me a harder case sometime.”

Lena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Maybe I should drop you off on the side of this road and let the local authorities target you for grave desecration.”

“Or maybe you could pick me as your hunting partner. I calmed that ghost down, didn’t I? Think of how good we’d be together.”

“Maybe,” said Lena. “I’ll think about it.”

“It’s a long drive back to Nebraska,” said John. “A drink at the Roadhouse says I convince you by the time we get there.”

“You’re on,” she said. “Convince me. No psychic shit though.”

“I won’t need it,” said John confidently. “Although think of the possibilities you’d have if you accepted a psychic as your hunting partner.”

It was just after sunrise by the time they get to the Roadhouse and Lena hadn’t stopped smiling during the entire ride. Among other things, John’s list of reasons why he should be her partner included the fact that he was good at golf.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” John said to her as she pulled into the parking lot.

“Flattery will not get you to be my partner.”

“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. Even covered in bone-dust and looking like hell, you’re beautiful.” John put an arm across the back of her seat. “I mean it.”

Lena twisted the car key in her hands. “Thank you.”

John smiled. “A beautiful woman like you, a handsome guy like me – what do you say? We’d be the best looking hunters in the US has ever seen.”

“Ah,” she said. “Maybe.”

John swore but he was grinning as he did. “Fuck. Aw, come on. Let me buy you a drink.”

George was sitting at the counter of the bar, stacking change in small precise piles. “Successful case?” he said. “Good god, you two smell like death.”

“Successful case,” Lena confirmed. “John here was just going to buy me a drink to celebrate.”

John went around the bar. Lena pointed at a bottle of gin and he poured her drink with a wounded look on his face.

“I’ve got another case if you want one,” said George. “Morgan came in last night with a story about a nest of vamps in Maine that need taking care of.”

“How many?”

“He said ten or so. He’s got a job down south to do but he says it’s open for anyone who’s free.”

“We can do it,” said Lena.

“We?” said George.

“Me and John. I could use a psychic with to help me with vampires,” she said. “Does that interest you, John?”

“With you, anything interests me,” said John. 

Lena took a sip of her drink to hide her smile.

“That’s disgustingly romantic,” said George. “And I do mean disgustingly. Get washed up, both of you, before you stink up my bar so bad that no one ever comes here again. There’s towels in the back. John, show her where the bath is.”

“Do you mean it?” said John as he led her into the house attached to the bar. “That’s all it took, a nest of vamps?”

“I wanted a free drink,” said Lena.

“You’re perfect,” John said. “Oh and Lena,” he said, right before she closed the bathroom door, “thank you.”

“Don’t let me down,” Lena said.

“I won’t.”

Lena grinned at him and he grinned back.


End file.
